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It’s all very well for such a person to whine and moan and criticize other family members, but they won’t let anyone else do it. That’s when you get your back up and show loyalty.

Markus Zusak

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Markus Zusak
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: January 1
Novelist
Writer
Sydney
NSW
Back
Loyalty
Person
Members
Wells
Anyone
Well
Show
Family
Shows
Whine
Else
Moan
Persons
Criticize

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Can a person steal happiness? Or is just another internal, infernal human trick?
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THE LAST WORDS OF MAX VANDENBURG: You've done enough.
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...one opportunity leads directly to another, just as risk leads to more risk, life to more life, and death to more death.
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Make sure you live,' she said. 'As decent as you can. I know you'll make mistakes, but sometimes you're meant to, okay?
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She didn't dare to look up, but she could feel their frightened eyes hanging onto her as she hauled the words in and breathed them out. A voice played the notes inside her. This, it said, is your accordion.
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Yes, I know it. In the darkness of my dark beating heart, I know. He'd have loved it alright. You see? Even Death Has A Heart.
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Why me?' I ask God. God says nothing. I laugh and the stars watch. It's good to be alive.
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Maybe one morning I’ll wake up and step outside of myself to look back at the old me lying dead among the sheets.
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You want to know what I truly look like? I'll help you out. Find yourself a mirror while I continue.
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But then, is there cowardice in the acknowledgment of fear? Is there cowardice in being glad that you lived?
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Clearly, I see it. I was just about to leave when I found her kneeling there. A mountain range of rubble was written, designed, erected around her. She was clucthing at a book.
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There were stars. They burned my eyes.
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I'm not a writer who refuses to talk about a book until I've finished.
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Liesel's blood had dried inside of her. It crumbled. She almost broke into pieces on the steps.
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Grimly, she realized that clocks don't make a sound that even remotely resembles ticking, tocking. It was more the sound of a hammer, upside down, hacking methodically at the earth. It was the sound of a grave.
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My own eyes try to sleep, but they don't. They stay wide awake as time snarls forward and silence drops down, like measured thought.
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For a moment, I panic. It's that feeling of falling when you know without question, that you've lost control of your car, or made a mistake that's beyond repair. 'What do I do now?' I ask desperately. 'Tell me! What do I do now?' He remains calm. He looks at me closely and says, 'Keep living, Ed... It's only the pages that stop here.
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I guess when someone tells you something they they usually guard, you feel privileged, not because you know something no-one else knows, but because you feel chosen. You feel like that person wants her life to intersect with yours. I think that's what felt best about it.
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Humans, if nothing else, have the good sense to die.
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Could she smell my breath? Could she hear my cursed circular heart beat revolving like the crime it is in my deathly chest?
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